


None of these will bring disaster

by keysmash



Series: Supernatural s6 Codas [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so many things seem filled with the intent<br/>to be lost that their loss is no disaster,</p><p>Lose something every day. Accept the fluster<br/>of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.<br/>The art of losing isn't hard to master.</p><p>from Elizabeth Bishop's "<a href="http://deux-mille-mots.livejournal.com/13525.html">One Art</a>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	None of these will bring disaster

**Author's Note:**

> The French Mistake coda. Title from Elizabeth Bishop; prompt from velvetine01.

Sam leaned out the broken window for a moment, checking to make sure this wall was solid, too. The raindrops made cold patterns on his face.

Dean grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back under cover again. "Get out from there, you idiot," he said, and shoved a stack of books at him.

Sam frowned down at the top book for a moment before he looked around at how far the water had splattered into the room. He found the books an empty bit of kitchen table and went back for more, passing Dean as he went.

"Bobby's not going to be happy about us messing up the order on these," Sam said.

"Yeah, well, he'd be even less happy about losing them entirely if they get rained on," Dean said. "Fucking Kool-Aid Man routine, what the hell."

They hauled the books as far away from the window as they could, then moved the furniture. Sam spread towels over things after that while Dean ran to and from Bobby's sheds in search of wood and tools, and then they went outside to patch the thing up.

"Seriously, who the fuck would think our lives are must see TV?" Dean asked, holding a sheet of plywood above his head so Sam could nail it into place. He worked as fast as he could but the top of the window was above even his head. Sam wasn't as confident using a hammer to put stuff together as he was with using one to tear things apart. Dean had the experience building things instead of just crashing through them. It should have been Dean hammering, and Sam holding the wood and the flashlight. He had a mouthful of nails, though, and he couldn't say any of that without stopping to spit them out.

He and Dean both faced the house. Standing close enough to work in the same space, Sam could see the water beaded up in Dean's hair, the goose bumps on his neck. Sam's mouth watered and it tasted like metal. He hammered a little faster.

The room was still cold when they finished up, even with the window was as secure as it'd get. The wallpaper closest to the window was more of a lost cause than it had been beforehand, and they made a puddle when they took off their outer layers.

Dean was right: the two of them were broke again. They'd be sleeping tonight in a house with a hole you could drive through, which was a step up from the usual place they bunked down (which could do the driving through the hole in question). Sam had rarely been so relieved to return somewhere. Give him the broken-down house any day of the week, the death and destruction, the trips to Hell: give Sam all of that if it meant his life had a purpose again, if people didn't act like the world was ending because he was on good terms with his brother. Give Sam his brother back and he'd take everything else.

He watched Dean dry himself off in the kitchen using the back of the overshirt he'd been wearing. Only Dean had made sense to Sam in that other reality, but that wasn't new. Sam had lost a lot of time while the world kept moving without him, and some days Dean was the only thing that made sense at all.

Dean looked up. His lips parted before he closed them again and swallowed. He held out his shirt to Sam and Sam walked into the kitchen to take it. He wiped his hands, his face, on Dean's shirt. The fabric held too much water from Dean's own skin to absorb much from Sam, but he tried anyway. He stood too close to Dean while he wiped up, closer than any of the X's on the set had been taped, but Dean didn't move away. Sam felt Dean's gaze on his face until he looked up from the water-darkened fabric and offered Dean his shirt back. Dean took it without looking away. Sam sighed again, smiling around the exhalation this time, before he leaned in and kissed him.

Dean didn't hesitate — Dean never hesitated when it was important, just threw himself behind his instincts and came back later to pick up the pieces. There was a slap of wet fabric against tile and Dean grabbed onto Sam double-fisted, one hand in his hair and the other in the collar of his shirt. He opened his mouth and Sam shuddered a breath into his brother before he could think to slip his tongue back inside him instead. He curled his hands around Dean's hips. The denim felt damp beneath his pinkies but the cotton of his tee shirt was dry under his thumbs. When Sam pushed his hands beneath that layer, getting Dean bare against his palms again, he only felt warm.

He tugged at Dean at the same time as Dean stepped towards him, so they wound up stumbling into each other. It was the first time Sam had felt this in weeks, in centuries, and it set his dick to filling against Dean's belly. Dean jerked in return, cock pressed twitching against Sam's thigh. Dean laughed and walked them backwards until he bumped into something solid. Sam didn't know what — he'd wasted enough time getting back here to stop and look around. He worked one hand down the back of Dean's pants and Dean tugged at Sam's collar until he pushed hand into his shirt, stretching out the fabric to rest warm and firm over his chest.

The kitchen was a horrible place for this, with Bobby liable to come back any time now, but Sam had a hard time caring. He had Dean's mouth under his again, Dean pressed hard and straining against him again. They stayed in the kitchen until they finished, and when they went upstairs, sticky and damp and short of breath, they went together.


End file.
